


Contamination

by Crombie



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, Kissing, Pain, Post Regeneration, Regeneration, Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-20
Updated: 2014-08-26
Packaged: 2018-01-16 09:16:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 19,665
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1341736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crombie/pseuds/Crombie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Doctor has just regenerated, but as usual something's gone wrong.<br/>Speculative first story for series 8, set immediately after the regeneration.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Interface

“Do you happen to know how to fly this thing?”

His words made as much of an impact on her as a splash of water on stone. Clara stood open-mouthed, staring at the stranger, her brain still processing what it had just seen. She couldn't think, she could barely breathe- she certainly couldn't speak. 

Beneath the Doctor's furrowed brow his wide eyes glinted in expectation of any kind of response. Then it was as if something clicked behind them, and they fluttered downwards towards the controls on the central console. He hesitantly began to press buttons, and the Tardis began to respond like a cat whose owner had just trodden on it's tail- nervous at first, but gradually both pilot and ship gained confidence; lights began blinking and turning on, the central column stuttered into life, and the groaning and wheezing of the engines gathered pace. Memories flashed in his mind, in turn guiding his hand to a lever or a button or a dial, but then suddenly blinding and disorientating him- the sensation was glorious. He could feel his new consciousness awakening within him, glowing and pulsing, singing as he felt energy as hot as lightening surging through his body down to his fingers, electrifying them. Clara's eyes could barely keep up with him as he danced around the console, jabbing at the controls gleefully.

He suddenly realised that he hadn't looked up at her for some time. He told himself it was because he was concentrating on piloting the Tardis- focusing his thoughts and beginning to organise the jumbled garage sale that was his post-regeneration brain. Yet underneath the surface chaos there was an solid mass of icy dread. Keeping his momentum going meant that he didn't have to give himself a moment to think- right now he was operating entirely on instinct. He didn't want to stop or slow down, because it would mean having to face up to a rapidly approaching horrible reality. It was the fear that this change would be the last straw for his impossible girl, that he had put her through too much, and that no relationship, however close they'd grown in these last few months was worth what she had been through in the last few hours. He would've loved if she'd just yelled at him, gently punched him on the shoulder, and that they'd had one of their little shouting matches, which he knew expressed more affection than a hundred awkwardly muttered compliments- but he couldn't face the idea of her being silent. Quietly grieving for the man she'd lost, and disappointed in who he'd become. He would look up, the sparkle would be gone from her big brown eyes, and she will quietly tell him she wants to go home. 

He reluctantly began to stop flicking switches. Moments ago his feet had barely been touching the ground as he leapt around the console, but now he had slowed down to a pace where he was just absent-mindedly prodding at buttons. Now standing still, he swallowed, and once he'd taken a moment to gather his nerves he lifted his face to look at her.

She still hadn't moved. 

“Have your batteries ran out? Or do I need to fetch a key to wind you up with?” He tried a joke. Though now he thought about it Rose hadn't really appreciated the jokes he made straight away after regenerating in front of her. It had maybe not been the best idea. 

She blinked, and her jaw twitched as if she was trying to talk but had no idea what to say. 

The Doctor began to step towards her nervously, as if she was a beautiful stranger that he was attempting to approach at one of those terrible parties that have a hired DJ, balloons and a buffet. “Wow, Time Lords eh?”. His eyes looked down, mostly because he couldn't stand to look at her expression any longer. He stared down at his hands in fascination, turning the palms over and flexing the fingers. “They sure do know how to make the most of their incalculable powers of space and time. They've managed to turn a really old guy into a slightly less old guy.” He glanced up at Clara, his face daring her to smile, but she just remained unmoving- the only difference now is that her eyes began shimmer with tears.

“Oh...oh my Clara.” He instinctively took steps towards her, but stopped when he realised that (whether it was intentional or not) Clara had flinched, and stepped backwards. Now all that was left between them was a final, small, infinite space, and his smiled faltered. He started running his hands over his face and through his hair in a panic- “It isn't that bad is it? Is it that bad? It's bad isn't it” He looked at her, his brand-new eyes searching desperately for any reaction in her face.

He couldn't bear the silence any longer, but then, without warning, the Doctor let out a howl of pain. He doubled over, his face scrunching up, and his hands gripped onto his shirt until his knuckles turned white. 

Clara jumped in surprise from the sudden cry, and before she knew what she was doing, before taking another breath, she had ran round to the other side of the control console. She skidded and fell to her knees next to where the man was doubled over, still crying out in pain and clutching at his chest. Without any idea of what to do her instincts kicked in. She forgot all about Tardises and doctors, aliens and monsters, regeneration and Trenzalore. Right now all she knew was that she was Clara Oswald, and here was someone that needed her help. She put one arm around his shoulders. She reached out and took one of his hands in hers, and he gripped his fingers around it tightly.

His body immediately began to relax, he was purposefully steadying his breaths with long slow inhalations, and shaky, pained exhalations. His eyes were closed, his head bowed, and without looking up he gave Clara's hand a reassuring squeeze as if to say 'I'm okay.' He seemed stable, but his feet slid out suddenly from beneath him before Clara could grab him, and he fell with a thud to the floor, remaining there curled up on his side with his knees tucked into his chest. 

Clara felt the Tardis awaken as if it too had been momentarily stunned. There was humming, and the blips and beeps of electrics, then something flickered on the edge of her vision. Looking up she saw something that took a couple of moments to take in- it was herself. She saw a projection of herself -stood upright next to her, dressed in a faintly glowing white knee-length dress, and a pair of glossy blood-red heels. It was the Tardis's holographic interface. 

The interface stared vacantly at the wall behind Clara, and it spoke in a voice so cold that she barely recognised it as her own. “This is the Type-40 tardis life-support system emergency medical interface. Warning- detecting life signs at critical. Diagnosis of biometrics concludes- the Doctor is dying”

There was a grave silence as the statement hung in the air, and a shiver ran through Clara's body at hearing it out loud. Then, she began shaking her head in disagreement. “No. No no no, can't you see? Look at his face- he's regenerated! Update your information! He's not dying anymore- look! Look you stupid cow!” She looked down, and with a hand either side of his face, gently turned his head towards the light. His eyes were shut tightly, and he would periodically spasm, wince, and bare his clenched teeth, as pain burnt through his body in waves. She suddenly realised she was now slightly stroking his cheek with her thumb. His thin frame relaxed, lowered itself down until his head gently settled into her lap. A warm feeling spread inside her as she realised that he was taking so much comfort from her presence, and as she looked down at him her heart fluttered in her chest.

'The doctor is dying'  
Clara looked up, the moment abruptly broken. Now the interface was eerily looking her straight in the eyes. 'The doctor is dying'.

“Stop saying that! No, listen, the Timelords sent regeneration energy through the cracks. The cracks in the universe? Does that make sense? Hello?” Clara suddenly realised that this situation was possibly not one that a Tardis is built to understand. Going beyond twelve regenerations could be the timelord equivalent of the millennium bug. 

Now the interface didn't move, but Clara got the distinct sensation it was because the Tardis was thinking (processing- Clara corrected herself.) “Personnel medical history updated....bzzzzt” The interface flickered for a moment. Clara held her breath, willing the ghost-like apparition to continue. “The patient's body is contaminated with excessive regeneration energy of a foreign origin. Current destination terminated. Personnel must be removed from active duty. Programming co-ordinates for nearest friendly territory to allow for recovery. Patient must survive first 12 hours of contamination to be out of danger of fatal damage to critical life systems. Stand-by”. The lights in the Tardis were extinguished, the interface disappeared, and then suddenly the ship tilted violently. The doctor slid away from Clara towards the edge of the floor. Instinctively she managed to grab hold of him as the whole room began to swing to and fro as if it was the pendulum on a clock. Clara didn't know if if was the erratic reeling of the ship making her feel sick, or the thought of how many times had she done this with her doctor- except then there was giggling and swinging on railings. Imagine if she could see herself now- holding back tears whilst desperately clinging to some infirm stranger. 

It was a very short time before the Tardis lurched herself to a stand-still. Evidently she was a much more efficient pilot than the doctor was. Everything was once again silent and still, and Clara momentarily felt the weight of her loneliness suddenly press down upon her. But the words of the interface sprang into her mind. The doctor wasn't dying (for now). All was not lost, she could still save him at least one more time. She just needed to get him somewhere he could rest for a while to recover. Not only that good news, but he seemed to have perked up a bit already. He shifted, leaning on his hand, as if trying to sit up, so Clara eased herself away to give him some space. As he raised his head, Clara could see sll the blood had drained from his face, he was worryingly pale and shivering with his arms wrapped around himself, but at least he was awake and that was a start - even if for now he still wasn't saying anything. Clara leant down and put a hand on his cheek- it was freezing cold. “I'm just going to pop my head out of the door to see where we've landed. We'll get you a nice cup of tea eh?” He didn’t look up from where his heavy-lidded eyes were fixed on the floor, and Clara's brow wrinkled with concern. 

Not wanting to hang around, she jogged to the Tardis door, and firmly pulled it open. 

Hastily stepping out, she was hit by a wall of freezing cold air. Not crisp- but thick and heavy with dust, and permeated with a smell of pollution and smog. Clara felt her heart leap with excitement as she inexplicably knew that she was somewhere back on earth, but it met with the weight of loss and bereavement in the pit of her stomach, and there the feelings congealed into something nauseous. 

Squinting, all she could make out through the doorway was a cobbled pavement illuminated with light from the Tardis, which disappeared into a curtain of darkness and fog. Wherever they were, it was night time. Clara frowned- this would be a lot easier if she could use the scanner on the console.

“I'm just going out to check the area. See where we've lan-” She spun around and straight away and knew something was wrong.  
He was lying on his side facing away from her, limp limbs spread out at different angles, body still and sickeningly lifeless. As she sprinted over she whimpered 'no' over and over, 'no, no, no, no', a desperate prayer for help knowing that no one was listening. Quickly turning him over, she jumped at the sight of blood on her hand only to realise that he'd had a small nosebleed. Exhaling slowly to calm herself, she slid a palm under his waistcoat and between the buttons on his shirt, onto the soft clammy skin of his chest to feel for a heartbeat.

He was alive, barely. His hearts were beating faintly but rapidly, like two ringing alarm clocks in his chest, and his breaths were rapid and shallow, but all Clara was aware of was just how relieved she was that for now he was still with her.

Concluding that he wasn't safe to be left on his own, and putting all her trust in the Tardis's innate ability to take them where they needed to be when it mattered most, Clara took action. She positioned herself behind his head, slid her arms under his armpits, and pulled him into a sitting position. She paused for a moment, taken aback at how light he was- as if he was made of paper. She tried to shake off how uneasy his frail new form made her feel, and focused on the fact that for now it was a blessing, because it meant that in one swift action she was able to lift him from behind, and carry him round to the door of the tardis (his feet dragging on the floor). As she did this his chin rested on his chest and his head lolled from left to right, and the thought occurred to her that the two of them must look quite ridiculous.  
Before long they were outside. Clara was trying to be as gentle as possible as she carried the Doctor further from the tardis until it was just a faint silhouette in the gloom, and the only sound was the clop-clop-clopping of the Doctor's heels hitting the cobbles. “We'll just keep going until we can figure out where we are. The Tardis will have brought us somewhere you can rest up until you feel better.” It was like she was talking to a child she was taking to see the school nurse. 

After what was only a couple of minutes, Clara got the distinct sensation that they were no longer alone.  
Suddenly a voice came from the gloom, echoing around, disorientating Clara, making it impossible to see where it was coming from.“Awright darling? You lost?” 

Sauntering from the fog were two large indistinguishable figures. As they got closer, Clara could see they were men, probably in their thirties, wearing shabby brown clothes, looking exactly like the illustrations of Victorian labourers in children's school books. She knew she should feel relieved to have finally come across another human being, but she immediately felt like something wasn't right. Instead of bubbling to life and extending them a cheery greeting as she would normally, she froze. She wanted to run away as fast as she could, but the Doctor was barely able to move, and leaving him behind was out of the question, so all that was left for her to do was remain silent and still until she could figure out what these two swaggering hulks were after. Hopefully she could reassure them that she was fine and they might just move on, but Clara wasn't having that sort of day. 

Their faced creased with wide unfriendly grins, and began to slowly circle her like a pair of sharks, flashing their eyes sideways to each other periodically as if they were both in on some private joke. One of them slowed down and stared intensely at Clara, then nodded towards the Doctor: “Your boyfriend's not looking too well. Should we help them out Eddie I wonder?” 

His companion replied in a mocking upper-class accent, which did little to mask his naturally strong cockney tones: “Indeed we must, good friend Robert. His coat's looking terribly heavy. It would be very un-Christian off us to not relieve him of it. And anything in the pockets- unless this little jezebel has already helped herself o' course. ” Their circles began to get smaller as they closed in on Clara, and whilst she was keeping an eye on one the other strode forward and grabbed the doctor's face. His hand was huge, covering the lower part of the Doctor's head from ear to ear. He yanked it up roughly from where it had been dangling unconsciously and peered at it suspiciously, as if he could sense that there was something out of the ordinary about it.

“Don't you touch him!” Clara cried out, spinning round with her fist out, intending to deal a desperate blow whilst still clinging to her Doctor with her other arm like a life jacket. Her fist made a pathetic slap sound as it hit the palm the man had extended absentmindedly to meet it. Before she could react he closed his fingers around her hand, trapping her. “Now that wasn't very nice. Perhaps you should pick on someone your own size.” He said wickedly, smiling. The man turned his attention away from the Doctor, releasing his head where it dully flopped back down again. The man's friend continued to circle them, eyeing up Clara hungrily, his eyes darting between the two of them as he sniffed out small derisive laughs. 

Clara stared up at the thief. “Here's a lesson they should've taught you in Sunday school girl.” he said, his words curling around his lips, smiling with glee. Clara tried to back away, but between her ensnared hand and still trying to support the Doctor, she was completely helpless to do anything as she realised in horror that the man was raising his palm towards the sky with slow cruelty, relishing every agonising moment before he delivered a crippling blow. Clara frantically tried to think of something she could do. Her situation now looked completely helpless. She closed her eyes tightly, and suddenly realised she was wishing her Doctor was here, as if she was a child trying to summon a bow-tie wearing fairy godmother. She couldn't tell if thinking of him made her feel better or worse, but in that moment she cried out for him with her very bones, and the sensation was so strong it escaped from her mouth “Doctor.” She whispered, and braced herself for the attack. There was a moment of quiet- and then the hand came hurtling down. 

And then...nothing. 

Clara stayed still, eyes shut so tightly it was almost painful- but still there was nothing. She could still feel the Doctor next to her, and her assailant's palm encompassing her fist, but there was no pain from impact, no sensation at all, not even a sound. Her confusion outweighed her fear, and she gently ventured an eye open- just slightly enough that at first she had trouble focusing through her eyelashes. 

She beheld where she had been looking before closing her eyes, and saw to her surprise the man's palm was still there, suspended in mid-air. Around his wrist were four long, thin, pale fingers and a thumb, wrapped tightly enough around his fat flesh as to restrict the blood supply, causing his hand to turn pink and resemble an inflatable party balloon. The attacker's face was frozen in surprise, but he wasn't looking either his own hand, or the one that was now painfully gripping his wrist. He was looking down at it's owner. He was looking at the Doctor, who was now fully awake and glaring at him with an expression of ferocity, as if trying to burn right through him with his icy eyes. “You're right.” the Doctor growled as he slowly drew himself up to his full height, no longer leaning on Clara for support. He was even a couple of inches taller than the man who only a few minutes ago had seemed like a giant, and who was now absent-mindedly releasing Clara's hand. The Doctor eyed him in disgust, before leaning in close and whispering: “It was wrong for Clara to pick on someone so small and pathetic.”

The Doctor now stood towering and straight- straighter than he ever had in his previous body, and loomed over the man. Gone was all the nervous excitable energy, to be replaced with a stillness and power than had it's own thick viscosity in the air, and the man trembled in fear. 

Like a spark set to gunpowder, the doctor suddenly grabbed hold of the man's arm, and flipped him over his shoulder effortlessly, sending him crashing to the ground. Then Clara suddenly became aware of the man's friend, who had so far been watching the scene unfold dumbfounded, but who was now bearing down on the doctor from behind, about to take him by surprise. Before she could cry out a warning the man threw his fist out, trying to land a clumsy right-hook on the back of the Doctor's head, but before it reached it's intended target, the Doctor wheeled around instantaneously, grabbed the oncoming fist in one hand, and then with the other lifted the man up and threw him such a distance that he disappeared into the mist, and fell somewhere off in the mire unseen with a clatter and thud as he hit the ground. 

The Doctor stood with his back to Clara, solid and upright and still- no heavy breaths or shaking to indicate that he had just performed any sort of physical exertion. She remembered earlier when she had thought he was like tissue paper, but now she realised she had been wrong. He was like silk. Gone was the old body that was fluent in clumsy- arms and legs wheeling around in contradicting directions, constantly avoiding non-existent obstacles with expert precision. His movements now were fluid and gentle and confident. Now he moved with grace, and yet she had seen that in a moment he could be pulled taught and resistant. And strong. 

Suddenly his posture softened. He spun around on the spot and strode up to Clara, a look of concern on his face. His awkwardness around her from earlier apparently forgotten, he took her in his arms and hugged her tightly, burying his nose in her hair. Without having to think about it for a second she wrapped her arms around him and pressed her face into his chest as if she never wanted to let go. They both were so relieved that they would've been happy staying like that forever, but after a long moment the doctor pulled himself back so that he could look at her. He put a hand on one side of her face, and Clara could feel it pulse with warmth and energy. “Are you okay? I'm so sorry you were on your own.” He said it with such an sincerely apologetic expression that any tiny remaining feelings of hesitation that Clara still harboured since the regeneration melted away instantly.  
“I was fine” She replied with a cheeky wink. “Nothing I couldn't handle.” She grinned, and he smiled back at her. He had so much warmth in those pale eyes.

“Wait, no, hang on” Her mind relaxing, she suddenly remembered what had happened only minutes ago in the Tardis. “Are you okay?” she spluttered, her eyes swimming with concern.  


“Yes.....why? Why wouldn't I be?” the Doctor looked genuinely confused.  


“Doctor..you were unconscious. You..you were in pain! The regeneration!” She looked down at the darkening blood stain on his shirt- a reminder that it hadn't all been a horrible dream.  


“What? What regeneration?” The Doctor asked, looking with worry at Clara, like she'd gone mad. Then suddenly his eyes flickered away and he took a step back, and Clara watched in horror and amazement as his hands glowed with golden energy, and then he grew silent as if distracted, then he looked up and stared longingly with unfocused eyes at the stars glittering above them through the fog. He took a deep breath, then as he exhaled slowly what looked like glittering golden smoke came from his mouth. Clara realised with a sinking heart that it wasn't over yet. 

He stumbled over to Clara, falling into her arms, but she was able to support him and keep him standing. “Clara I feel terrible. I really don't feel well. I think I might've regenerated.” He stammered. She rolled her eyes. 

“Doctor I know. That's what I was- eeek!” He had slipped out of her grasp and hit the ground. “Sorry Doctor, you're going to have a few bruises when you wake up.” Leaning over him, she saw now that his eyes were still open, but had rolled back so she could only see their whites. “What now??” She pleaded. “No, no, no.” She repeated, as she once again slid her hand into his shirt. Only one heartbeat this time. Her eyes widened in panic, and she froze- she felt incredibly alone and powerless to help him. 

“OUT OF THE WAY STUPID PRIMITIVE!”

The cry came from behind Clara, then something large shoved her aside, and knelt down in her place.  
“Strax!” She cried, and hugged him from behind as he scrutinized the doctor.  
“Hmm binary vascular system, mono-cardiac arrest. Please boy, stand back.” Clara released him as he removed a small hand-held device from the inside of his suit jacket, and thrust it into the doctor's chest where it made a loud sudden “ZAP!”.

The doctor sat suddenly bolt upright, wearing a wide-eyed surprised expression on his face. “Ow” he said quietly, and then fell back down with a thud. “Right.” Said Strax, turning to Clara, evidently now satisfied that his patient was stable. “We heard the Tardis, and I came out immediately to greet you and your new wrinkly boyfriend. Where is the Doctor?”


	2. Tea

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Re-wrote the ending to make it 'even more gooderer', as Oscar Wilde would say.

How did this happen? Clara stared at the last dregs of tea at the bottom of the china teacup that she was nursing in her lap. She thought back over what had happened to her in the last few months and years, and saw events and people in her mind spinning around each other like ballroom dancers. They joined together at some points, split apart at others, but as the music is winding down there are two figures left, slowly waltzing together, both unsure of the next move, of what the next step should be, of where the tune would take them next.

Whatever the circumstances, they had resulted in Clara now being in the richly decorated parlour of a Victorian London town house, sat opposite a familiar lizard woman, drinking a cup of tea brewed expertly by her wife. Familiar? Clara thought, sighing deeply. Since when had lizard women become familiar? With her bow-tie wearing Doctor now gone forever, Madame Vastra, Jenny and Strax were the closest thing to familiarity that Clara now had. 

“How are you doing my dear?”. Vastra gave Clara a friendly reassuring smile. Clara glanced up, then back down at her cup without saying a word. Unfortunately, Madame Vastra was still somewhat unfamiliar with the delicacies of human non-verbal communication, and so did not pick up on the indication that maybe Clara wasn't in the mood for small talk. Instead she decided that maybe she hadn't been trying hard enough, and so began to nervously ramble. “Surely that tea's getting cold, would you like a top-up? Jenny should be down any moment to brew another pot. It's good, isn't it? I got it from a merchant down on Regency Street. He gives me a discount for not eating his family. I tried to tell him that I don't really go in for that sort of thing, but he insisted.” There was an awkward silence, which was then punctuated by a very strange sound. Vastra laughing nervously “Hahaha....primates. So foolish”. Then once again the silence resumed. As Vastra sat stiffly upright in her chair she began eyeing the room anxiously, as if desperate to find something to talk about. “Perhaps you would like a drop of brandy instead, something a bit stronger?”

Then the tension was relieved by a different, but still familiar voice:“Sometimes you betray yourself as a foreigner to our lands and times too easily Ma'am”. Jenny appeared at the doorway in her maid's uniform, carrying a tray with a freshly boiled pot of tea on it. “Every English girl knows there's nothing stronger than a good well-brewed cup of tea. Isn't that right Miss?” She came over to Clara first, and crouching down next to her, she poured the streaming brown liquid from the pot and whilst focusing her attention on the cup in Clara's hands, she spoke gently. “Now I don't want you to worry about that Doctor of yours Miss. Strax and I have put him to bed, and we'll have him right as rain by morning.” Before long the cup was filled, and she tilted the pot back. She looked up and studied Clara's face with concern. “You've had quite a shock. Are you going to be alright Miss?” Clara hesitated, then meekly nodded whilst keeping her head bowed low. Jenny eyed her with scepticism as she stood, before turning and taking the pot to Vastra, to refill her cup next.  


“What's the latest word from Strax then?” Vastra enquired, as casually if they were discussing a friend who had the flu.  


“His diagnosis is the same as the Tardis's, based on what Clara heard it say. Excess of energy or something or other...a bit beyond my schooling Ma'am.” Jenny finished filling Vastra's cup, and turned to set the pot on the side.  


“But what the Tardis said seems to be accurate though. Essentially he just has to survive through the night and then he should be fine?” Jenny shot Vastra a dark look, and she managed to interpret this one correctly, and immediately began spluttering to create as much distance between her tactless statement and the present. “Oh yes, I mean, of course he'll be fine. Why wouldn't he be. Sugar Clara?”  


Clara didn't look up, as thoughts began to take form in mind, and she realised she was now saying them out loud. “But even if he's fine, he won't be the same. He can't be, his whole body, his whole mind has changed. What if he doesn't want me to travel with him any more? Maybe I won't even like him.” She whispered the last statement, as she realised how selfish it sounded. The Doctor's life hung in the balance, and she was worried some bloke wouldn't laugh at the same jokes as her, or maybe would bore her or irritate her.  


Jenny looked at her, and then did something Clara did not expect. She smiled. A warm genuine smile. “Clara, everyone changes. I've known Madam Vastra for so much of my life now- you don't think we've both changed?”  


“Yes, I'm a lot more...domesticated now, you might say.” Vastra and Jenny looked at one another affectionately, before Jenny continued.  


“But the important things don't change. He's still got the same memories, the same spirit. It'll still be the Doctor, you'll see. You might even prefer him, you never know.”

Clara felt reassured, and as the mood in the room brightened, the door swung open and Strax stamped in clutching his medic kit in one hand. “Ugh! Utterly preposterous! Absolutely ludicrious!” He made his way to a large chair covered in plump cushions in the corner, and flung himself into it.  


They stared at him waiting in expectation of an explanation, and when it seemed as if one wasn't coming, Vastra cleared her throat “Yes?” she enquired. Strax looked at her, as if surprised that she needed more information.  


“There's nothing I can do for him.”  


“Wait, what? He was stable a moment ago! What did you do?!” Vastra cried, leaping up onto her feet, but before she had reached the door Strax interjected. “No, no, wait stupid reptile. I mean, he's on his own now, there's nothing my extensive medical knowledge and technology can do for him.” He paused for a moment, before adding: “As mighty as it is. All hail Sontar.” As a hurried afterthought.  


“Oh. Very well.” Vastra sat herself back down, regaining her composure.  


“Yes, as unsurpassed and advanced as Sontaran medical knowledge is, Timelord biology is regrettably beyond even our understanding.” He stood up and began to pace the room. “Indeed, it would seem that the body of a Timelord can in part be somewhat...chronologically and...dimentionally challenged? Not to mention the added complication of the regeneration cycle.” Now he turned to face them, as if delivering a lecture at a university. “Anyone from outside of their species performing even the simplest medical procedure on a Timelord would seem to be comparable to a dog fixing the lightspeed flux engine of a class 5 battleship using only a toothbrush. Or a human doing anything more complicated than making a vaguely edible pie.” He stopped pacing, as if greatly concerned with this last statement, and was pondering on it deeply. 

Vastra ignored Strax, and turned to the others. “Well, we can take turns watching him tonight. I shall go first, after we finish this pot of tea.”  


“Very good Ma'am” Jenny interjected. “I shall take the second watch. And you'll take the third, Clara?” Clara looked up, and nodded reluctantly. She knew Jenny had suggested it to ease her back into spending time with the Doctor.

Seemingly unaware that the conversation had taken a new direction, Strax carried on as if there had been no interruption: “Tonight, when I saw you embracing the person I believed at the time to be your life-mate in the street, I was overcome with a realisation.” Strax began to stroke his chin in deep thought, continuing the role of guest lecturer that he was beginning to relish. “I had always been suspicious of you Clara Oswald, because through the course of our meetings, you had never approached me with a proposition of courtship (a human tradition I have come to understand is signified by hand holding and the exchange of floral gifts). And although I would have of course denied your request on the grounds of your obvious repulsiveness, I would have found it logical for you to ask as I am a prime example of Sontaran perfection.” Strax belted this last part out in his most commanding voice, and beat his fist on his chest, before continuing. “But when I saw this male you had chosen, I realised something.” Vastra Jenny and Clara watched him intensly as he slowly paced the room, feeling a combination of utterly exasperated and strangely intrigued about where he was going in this bizarre trail of thought. “At a sprightly twelve years of age, I must be too young for you. Based on this one's appearance, you must favour males of closer to...ninety years old? Would that be correct?”  


“Right. That's it.” Clara said as she stood up, feeling completely unable to deal with any more wierdness, and strode over to the door. “I'm not sitting up all night listening to this. Thanks for the help guys. Wake me up when it's my turn on watch.” and she swung around and pounded up the stairs.

Running up the stairs, she slowed as she reached the top, seeing that the Doctor's door was slightly ajar. For half a second, she debated whether or not she should go in, but then before she knew it she was sliding her body through the gap in the doorway, trying to make as little noise as possible. 

Scanning the room, she spotted the bed in the corner, and the indistinct form buried under the covers. It was illuminated by a thin shaft of light coming from the doorway, which then shrunk into nothingness as Clara gently pushed the door closed behind her, enveloping everything in darkness. Luckily, the curtains were open and the moon was full, so it only took a few seconds for her eyes to adjust to the lack of light. She could now see everything in the room quite clearly, and as she crept towards the bed, the shape of the doctor became more apparent. He was lying on his side, facing the wall, with his hands balled up and tucked into his chest. As she got closer her steps became more delicate as she became aware of every creak of the floorboards, and it felt like she would wake him up with the sound of her heart hammering in her chest, but she kept inching closer and closer until she was stood directly above him- so close her hair was hanging down almost brushing his face. She could see every tiny rapid breath that he took, and every twitch of his closed eyelid. He looked so weak that it almost broke her heart to see him like that. Satisfied that he was totally asleep, she lowered herself delicately onto the stool positioned next to the bed, and continued to stare at him with fascination. She couldn't deny that now she was next to him he really did feel completely familiar, which seemed bizarre after being so certain downstairs that he would be like a stranger to her. 

He began to shiver, as if gripped by a fever, causing Clara to put her hand out instinctively to comfort him, and she began to stroke his hair, running her fingers through it. It was very thick, and soft. She'd flatten it under her palm, then watch as it would spring back into place. She must've been there for quite a while, lost in the moment, playing with his hair, so she didn't notice him beginning to stir. It took her by surprise when he rolled over in his sleep towards her, murmuring something incomprehensible. She leapt up onto her feet, but froze to the spot, eyes wide and fixed on him, terrified that she'd woken him, and suddenly becoming acutely aware of how embarrassing it would be if he'd felt her fondling his head. Her heart raced, and he rolled over towards her the cover sliding down slightly to reveal that his shirt was wide open. Clara felt herself blush intensely, her heart now feeling like it was about to explode, and without even waiting to see if he'd woken up she turned on her heels and sprinted out of his room, across the hall to her own, shut the door behind her and dove under the covers. 


	3. Soda

Clara lay in bed. It wasn't that she couldn't sleep, or even that she wasn't tired (she was exhausted) but the idea of going to sleep didn't occur to her at all. Instead of telling her she was tired, her brain was like a glass of fizzing soda; thoughts bubbling up, whizzing around, and popping out of existence as quickly as another appeared and took it's place and did the same. She would turn under the sheets restlessly, lying in different positions as if her thoughts ran through her with a power that made them electric, surging through her nerves and preventing her from staying still. 

To make matters worse, she didn't know how she felt either. She was thinking about her bow-tie Doctor, and the regeneration. It had been so sudden that it still seemed acutely unreal to her. Remembering it was like she was watching someone other than herself, the scene playing out in her head like something she'd watched on television. Part of her brain believed her Doctor was just in the Tardis right now, tinkering away at some electrics, or he's just popped down the road for a stroll. Unconsciously she felt like tomorrow she'll wake up to find him playing hopscotch with some children in the street. But then this new Doctor would enter her mind. New Doctor? It's the same man, she'd remind herself. Same Doctor, new face. 

Oh yes, a very new face. No matter where her thoughts took her, that intense ice-blue stare would be there, at the back of her mind, penetrating into her. Maybe it was something to do with time travel, emotional connections looping backwards in her time line, that sort of thing, but he already felt so familiar . It was making her feel guilty and fickle, as if she'd already forgotten about her floppy-haired clever boy. 

When she couldn't take the darkness and enveloping quiet any longer, she threw her covers off and swung out of bed, then crept out of the room and back towards the Doctor's door. Inside, she saw Jenny sat on the stool next to the bed, hunched over sleepily. Clara tip toed over, and gently touched her shoulder, stirring her. “Oh, hello Miss.” She said drowsily. “My turn over already?” Clara nodded, and with that Jenny shuffled out of the room, closing the door behind her, and Clara took her place.

She sat unmoving, eyes fixed on the back of the Doctor's head, sort silver curls peaking out from under the luxurious scarlet covers. After a couple of minutes, she heard him make a small unintelligible murmur.  
“Doctor?”  
Clara leaned in closer, so that her nose was inches away from the back of his head as she strained to hear what he was saying. Then suddenly, without warning the doctor rolled over towards her, causing her to jump back. He turned his face to her with bleary eyes, partly concealed under half-closed lids, and smiled impishly. “I said- what colour is my hair?” His voice was husky and weak. 

Clara stammered: “I...I...”  
“Well you were inspecting it so thoroughly last night I felt certain you might have noticed.” He delighted in delivering each word to her, grinning as he saw the realisation slowly blossom on her features.  
“Doctor!” She punched him playfully in the arm. “You were meant to be asleep!”  
He laughed as she pouted at him, and began to sit up, wincing as his body protested against the effort.  
“What are you doing? Lie back down right now” she used her best, most authoritative teacher voice, with hands on hips for full effect. He paused and threw her a sheepish sideways glance, before his eyebrows lowered and he gave her that same devilish smile again. “Bossy.”  
“You better believe it.” She made a move to stand up, but the Doctor waved his hand for her to stay where she was.  
“When I lie on my side it hurts” Gasping breaths and tiny pained cries punctuated his sentences as he carried on and threw the heavy covers off. “When I lie on my back it really hurts.” He swung his legs over the side of the bed. “So I might as well see if sitting up is any better.” He let out a long sigh as he settled into his new position.  
“Any better?”  
He winced again, and failed to disguise it by smiling. “Nope.”  
Clara didn't know what to say, but she knew that's not why the Doctor was silent. His face twitched, and his hands were trembling violently as he leaned back on them. He'd been joking with her, making her feel comfortable, and all the while was in pain she couldn't even imagine. She didn't know whether she should keep talking to take his mind off it, or whether it would just be annoying and make her seem self-centred. 

She was suddenly distracted when she realised he still was in the same shirt and trousers (The waistcoat and jacket lying abandoned forever in a heap in the corner)- evidently even Strax knew it would've been an invasion of privacy to totally undress the Doctor whilst he was unconscious. There wouldn't have been much point anyway, they looked like they wouldn't have made him uncomfortable. His previous body had been a very skinny boyish figure, but even so Clara noted with concern that they unbelievably now seemed slightly too big. 

Immediately after he'd regenerated, when Clara stood heartbroken at her Doctor's apparent obliteration, seeing him in those clothes had been like seeing someone in a very tasteless Halloween costume. Now it was like a lifeline to her, something for her to cling to, to ease the transition and remind her that this was absolutely the same man. She noted his bare feet first, sticking out of the trousers that looked slightly silly now he was a couple of inches taller, like a schoolboy who'd had a growth spurt. Then his forearms (probably even thinner than hers), and slowly her eyes wandered up to his chest, her heart jolting once again when she realised his shirt was open, revealing a protruding collar bone under pale bare skin. Suddenly overcome with embarrassment at this reaction happening to her now twice, and hoping to hide her rapidly reddening cheeks, she turned away and stared intently at a wardrobe He looked up, and thinking she must be looking away out of distaste he pulled his shirt closed. 

He stared into his lap, building up courage to ask the question he'd been dreading the answer to. “Don't go.” He murmured, as if his body was reluctant to obey his brain's commands to speak. It took Clara a couple of moments to realise what he'd said.  
“Oh. Oh! Don't worry, I've got the last watch until morning now. You've got to put up with me for another couple of hours!” She smiled him with kindly eyes and sat upright, but then after a few seconds relaxed back into her seat, once again unable to think of anything more to say. They sat like that for a moment, until the Doctor started to speak again, but without making eye contact, looking away from her, eyes glazed over as if his mind was focused internally. His voice was rough and low, but gentle. “No, I mean, don't leave me. Don't stop travelling with me. At least not straight away.” 

Clara sat dumbfounded for a moment, before a reply tumbled out of her “Why in the world would you think I would ever stop travelling with you Doctor? I sa-” He put a trembling hand up to silence her. 

“What I mean is...I've not seen what I look like yet. I haven't been infront of a mirror....but I'm not an idiot (which might come as a surprise).” He was rambling, obviously embarrassed. “ I've seen these” He held his hands up to her. “I know, well....I know...I can ….Arg! What I'm trying to say, is that I know I'm not your dashing young handsome Doctor any more.” He paused, and looked up at Clara, suddenly adding fervently: “And I'm not saying your shallow! That's not what I'm saying.” Clara had never heard the Doctor sound so uncertain of himself. “It's just...Things are different now. I'm not your clever boy any more. He's gone, and I don't want to disappoint you.”

He bowed his head and stared at the floor, whilst Clara's nose wrinkled as she tried to make sense of what he had said. On Trenzalore, she'd pleaded with the Doctor not to leave her behind, and he'd ignored her again and again, making her feel like a dead weight he had to cast aside to get anything done. Now he was the one who didn't want to be abandoned, and was bargaining with her to stay. He needed her.

After what felt like ages for both of them, Clara hopped her stool over so that she was so close to the Doctor that her legs were fit snuggly between his, and she took his face in her hands, and lifted it gently up. She closed her eyes, and drew closer to him, and they rested their foreheads together, saying nothing. It felt good to be so close to him, although she was worried he'd feel her heart pounding in her chest. 

“As if I could ever leave you.” She pulled her head back to look at him, and saw his face glow with relief. Smiling, she playfully bit her lip. “What would you do without me? You'd get lost in some alien jungle on your first trip out.”

“I don't know how much help you'd be! If we go anywhere with trees taller than 5 foot I'd lose you straight awa – hang on a second.” He straightened up, and he brow furrowed in confusion. “Am I Scottish??”  
“...Yeah?”  
“Well that's...weird. I think? Or is it?”  
She shrugged, happy to see him so distracted.  
He cleared his throat- “Let me try this out. It's like having a new toy to play with! Oot and aboot! In my hoose! Oh brilliant!” He clapped his hands together with glee, but then his eyes met Clara's, and his face fell. “But how bad is it then? Come on- don't go easy on me!” He stared at her with a pained smile. “I know it's shallow of me to worry about it, but I want to know!” She eyed him intensely, so that the Doctor would know she was taking this seriously, even if he was trying to hide behind a mask of joviality. She put a hand out to ruffle through his hair. “Well, for starters you've got sort of greyish short hair.”  
“Short? That's good. I have to admit my last hair style took a lot of upkeep. Lots of product, so many hours spent blow-drying- it's lucky I have a time machine or else I'd never have had time to go anywhere.”  
She smiled softly at him, and moved her hand around to his cheek, stroking the soft, cool skin. “Your face is sort of...” She tried to mimic him. She scowled, lowering her eyebrows as far as they're go whilst widening her eyes until they were almost perfectly round, and grimacing with her teeth. On her the expression was very cute, and he smirked.  
“Wow. Scary.” He said, laughing, and she nodded in agreement.  
“So.” He concluded, leaning forward so that their noses were almost touching. She could feel the warmth coming off his skin, and see every small breath he took. “Final verdict?” He whispered.

Her mouth opened slightly, as she tried to think of something, anything to say, to distract her from the overwhelming urge she felt. It was physical to her, like something was constricting her chest and gripping her wrists, pulling her forward. Then, the thought occurred that if she didn’t follow her instinct and act and the moment passed, it would be like a dagger in her heart, and she titled forward the slightest amount. It was enough for her lips to meet his, and after looking momentarily shocked, the Doctor closed his eyes and kissed her back.

It was a long kiss, changes of pace caused by waves of passion rippling through both of them. Starting slow and gentle, their hands would barely move, each transfixed on the taste of the other, then building up until it was hard and fast, hands gripping and touching and learning every part of each other. Gradually they slowed down, until he was gently planting small kisses on the nape of her neck, and nestling his head there until they relaxed into a hug. Then they pulled apart, arms still wrapped around each other.

“You like it then?” There was that devilish grin again.  
She giggled bashfully. “Yeah it's nice. I particularly like the..”- then she did the scowl again, and he laughed. Then suddenly the laugh turned into a cough, and he let go of her, turning away, his shoulders shaking with every pained hack. Clara stared in wonder as his hands glowed with golden light, and it served as a sobering reminder that they were still within that twelve hour danger zone.

She stood up, and gently lifting his legs spun him round back onto the bed, supporting his head as he lowered back down onto the pillow without a word of protest. Then she pulled the covers back up over him, leaned over and kissed his forehead. He smiled weakly, and she went to turn away, but then he reached out for her hand, partly pulled the blankets down, and gestured for her to lie down next to him. She sat on the bed, calmly untied her laces, removed her shoes, and lay down with her back to him. She felt his arms come round her, and she pulled the covers back over them. And like that, feeling warm and safe and lighter than air, she fell asleep. 


	4. Acid

It was still pitch-black in the room when Clara awoke from her deep and peaceful sleep. She remained still as thoughts and memories gradually rose to the surface of her mind, bobbing like flotsam.

Blinking her eyes into focus, she could barely make out any shapes in the darkness apart from the Doctor's hand, hanging over the side of the bed, pale and luminous in the moonlight, as her head rested comfortably on his arm.  
“I didn't wake you did I?” It was that strange but familiar growl again, coming from behind her. She clumsily turned over until she was facing the Doctor, who was laid out flat on his back, eyes open and focused on the ceiling. She nuzzled her face into him, and gently stroked his exposed chest.  
“You look like you haven't slept.” she mumbled sleepily. 

He eyed her sideways, and cocked a brow. “How can you tell? This body's never slept before. Maybe I look like this all the time.”  
She had to admit he had a point, but also that he was being deliberately evasive. His face changes, but some things with the Doctor never do. She decided to ignore him.

“How are you feeling?” She whispered.  
He returned his gaze back to the ceiling and said nothing, but Clara knew him well enough now to interpret when he was trying to communicate something without having to say it out loud. He was still in pain, but was too proud to expose his weakness in front of her. She remembered what he'd said earlier about not wanting to disappoint her now he'd changed, and he was evidently still brooding over it. 

Before she could think of some way of coaxing the Doctor into talking to her, something happened she wasn't expecting. The Doctor started talking.  
“It's like....metal splinters in my veins. Like....like the inside of my chest is acid, burning and corroding me from the inside out.” The Doctor still wasn't looking at her, his voice was strained. “My understanding of breaking beyond the regeneration limit is...sketchy at best. If I'd known it would feel...” He paused, and began massaging his breastbone with the ends of his fingers, as if lost in thought “...I would've maybe stopped to think twice about it.”

Well this is new, Clara thought. He was being open with her.

She sat up, leaning her weight on her one hand, but carried on stroking his exposed chest with the other; long gentle movements, occasionally just tracing shapes on his skin with her finger. Smiling, she did a slow caress that ventures further down his body than the others, lingering at the top of his trousers playfully. It made his skin tingle, and he sighed as his eyes closed with relaxation.

“How's that? Feeling better?” She asked with a playful smile.  
He squinted at her through one of his eyes, and threw her a wicked smile. “Hmm, strange, I do feel better all of a sudden” She smiled back and bit her lip, then leant in for an kiss. It began as a sweet single peck, but as she drew back and looked into his eyes, they both realised at the same time that that'll not be enough to satisfy either of them. She plunged onto him, and they suddenly started kissing like they'd been struck by lightning. It felt like a weight coming off their shoulders, replaced by profound relief. They'd had months of travelling together, suppressing their feelings and desires out of a need to keep things simple and uncomplicated, but now they'd surrendered to them, it felt so natural and right. 

Wanting to get a better angle, Clara swung her leg over the Doctor so she was straddling him, and he immediately sat up as if magnetised to her body. She pulled her cardigan and shirt off in one swift movement, knocking the Doctor's nose as he'd been still kissing her, oblivious to what she'd been doing and so hadn't moved out of the way, causing Clara to snort with laughter. Then she started to pull his shirt off, when his hand came up to stop her. “Oh come on, be fair.” She said, in a mocking sulky tone. He reluctantly relinquished his grip, and Clara finished pulling it off him before throwing it playfully behind her head. “I don't know what you think you look like..” Her sentence was punctuated as she bit his shoulder, and he groaned in gratification “But take it from me....you have nothing to worry about.”

He grinned, “I always suspected the 'boy band' looks I had before weren't really to your taste...” Then he smoothly unhooked her bra with one hand, and she wriggled it off “...I seem to have lost some clumsiness. A more mature body has it's advantages... ”

Clara blushed, then giggled “I have to admit, when you regenerated and I saw this face for the first time, it felt....” She held his cheek in her hand “...it felt like you'd been made especially for me. Does that sound odd?”

He laughed gently, then firmly grabbed her sides and pushed her back onto the bed, growling softly into her ear: “Yes it does, but I like it.” and with that she squeaked with delight as he ran his hand up her thigh, his thumb brushing in-between her legs, only for a split second touching her where she was hot and damp, but it was enough to send an electric current through up her spine. 

She began to kiss him with new-found urgency, and he replied in kind. Afterwards she would wish that she'd savoured this first night together more, but in this moment her hunger for him was insatiable, and she felt something uncontrollable take over her, and she began ineffectively fumbling with his trousers, trying desperately to unbutton them. He kept kissing her and smiling, teasing her with his eyes and with his hands, trying to put her off as best he could as she stuck her tongue out in concentration. When the button finally popped free, she let out a “Ha!” in triumph. Like a mark of respect to a worthy opponent who has bested him, he ceased his taunting for a moment to shake his trousers off, but upon seeing Clara's smug expression, he quickly wheeled back around without a word of warning, and pulled her skirt, tights and knickers down in one expert action. She gasped in surprise, but upon seeing the Doctor in front of her completely naked, she let out a growl of desire, and pushed him by the shoulders backwards onto the bed. 

Now she couldn't wait any longer, and she held her breath in anticipation for a moment, before easing herself onto him, and sighing deeply with pleasure. His movements were slow and gentle and deep, but it was almost too much for her, and she knew she wouldn't be able to last long. Her heart pounded in her chest as together they began to move faster and faster- she had never felt so physically in synch with someone before. She rubbed her hands over her scalp roughly, pulling at her hair because of the overpowering sensation, and she knew he felt it too because his hands are gripping her sides so tightly it almost hurts. It wasn't long before she came, and then he did seconds afterwards. 

Her legs were shaking, and so she went to lie down next to him, but instead he lifted her gently onto his chest, where she rested her head, and could hear his two hearts beating excitedly in his chest. His quick breaths were warm on the top of her head, and together they began to relax and calm their bodies down. After a few minutes however, they began to feel the chill of the room once again, so the doctor leant down and pulled the covers up over the two of them. Resting back onto the mattress, he ran his hands through Clara's hair, and like that, needing no words between them, they both fell asleep.


	5. Pyjamas

It was a sharp stabbing pain in his right heart that woke the Doctor up a few hours later. He moaned in complaint, then sat up rubbing his chest with his knuckles. His body was awake now, but it took a few moments for his mind to clumsily catch up. He grimaced in frustration as he tried to remember clearly what had happened, and then Clara's shocked face flashed before his eyes. Ah yes, the regeneration. That would explain his muddled brain- under new management. Normal service will resume shortly. Then he remembered what had happened afterwards...and then something stirred within him as he remembered what had happened after that, in this bed, and he smiled. 

He'd learnt to appreciate these moments, when circumstance stripped him of his full faculties for a short while. In these moments he could imagine what it must be like to be a normal, ordinary person with a short, normal, ordinary life. He had space to appreciate the little things, like waking up after a restful sleep, stretching your arms and legs, pulling the covers up higher to keep the cold out, all worries far from your mind. Normally those little precious moments were like whispers lost amongst an orchestra of life, but right now in the calm of the morning he was free to enjoy them. 

It quickly became apparent however that Clara was nowhere to be seen, and the Doctor surmised that she must've already woken up and gone to get something to eat. Bright white morning sunlight streamed through the window, and in the warm glow the room took on a whole new character. He could see the fine detail in the wallpaper, and the intricate embroidery on the carpets. Most of the furniture was covered with large cream linen sheets- evidently there had been no guests at Paternoster Row for a while, and there had been no time last night to properly prepare a room for the Doctor. 

His memories of last night were bathed in hazy silver moonlight. The only evidence that anyone had been there with him at all was a set of Victorian pyjamas folded neatly on a stool next to the bed. His old discarded clothes were nowhere to be seen. 

The Doctor swung his legs out of the bed, and hesitantly touched his toes to the carpet which had been warmed by the sunlight. He winced, every movement was painful. He'd had better first mornings. It must be still quite early, he thought, and his body hadn't yet rid itself of the excess contaminating regeneration energy. The pain from last night had barely subsided, but at least his strength was returning slowly. 

He risked a little jump onto his feet, and after landing unsteadily for a moment he sighed, cracked his back, and took a few experimental shakey steps forward.

Suddenly, something moved in the corner of his eye. He swung around to catch whoever it was sneaking up on him, and found himself facing a stranger. He leant forward to scrutinise whoever was brazenly staring at him from the other side of the room, and jumped back when the stranger did the same. Laughing at his own ridiculousness, the Doctor now realised it was just his reflection in a mirror, set into the door of a large mahogany wardrobe. 

Still chuckling in embarrassment, the Doctor's curiosity took over and he slowly stepped to the side, putting his reflection squarely into the centre of the mirror. 

The physical regeneration had been almost instantaneous, but the psychological one always takes a bit longer- inside he still felt like the floppy haired twelve year old who dresses like a first year fashion student, which didn't match up with the ghostly pale middle aged naked man staring back at him. The cognitive dissonance was quite disorientating. It felt like he was wearing a costume. 

He thought back to Clara's description, and judged that it had been fairly spot-on. His hair was grey, and when he moved it reflected sunlight like polished silver. His eyes were a similar unusual pale colour, and even he himself felt slightly intimidated by that unfamiliar penetrating gaze scrutinizing him. His face was thin, almost gaunt and quite severe, which was a pretty accurate description of the rest of his physique too. It was an older body, there was no denying that- but it was toned, with long sturdy limbs, large hands with clever fingers, and covered in pale translucent skin. 

“Regeneration- it's a lottery” the words of one of his previous incarnations echoed in his mind as he ran his hands over his arms and chest, feeling the soft supple skin, only a few hours old. Not too bad this time, he evaluated, giving his reflection a nod of approval. He'd have to stay away from bow-ties now though, he didn't want to be mistaken for Clara's grandfather. 

His head darted around scanning the room, but the Doctor quickly realised with disdain that the only clothes available to him were indeed the Victorian pyjamas sitting on the stool, and he groaned as he unfolded them. They were like a long hospital gown- in these he'd definitely look like somebody's crazy old Grandfather. Reluctantly he slipped them over his head, then a two minute struggle ended when he realised he was trying to get his head into one of the sleeves, so he removed them, and after that it only took 20 minutes, lots more grumbling and four more attempts before they were on the right way round and not inside out. His new body would take a bit of wearing in it would seem.

Now fully dressed he was eager to start the day, and was suddenly gripped with the desire to see Clara again. He wanted to see her in clear daylight with his new eyes, and to hold her small hand in his. He took a deep breath, then ran out the door and down the stairs two at a time. The door to the kitchen was already open, and since he knew the layout of the room, and knew that through the doorway was a very long kitchen, with an incredibly long wooden table running down the middle to match, he didn't think twice before sprinting in, knowing he had plenty of space to slow down. This was not a great idea, as Jenny had that morning cleaned and waxed the tiles on the floor, and so instead of gracefully coming to a halt as had been his intention, the Doctor's legs stopped moving but he continued to slide from one end of the room to the other. He closed his eyes tightly, waiting for impact (he was so accident-prone it had only been a matter of time before he'd had a body that lasted for less than a day), but all he could hear was a very loud protracted squeal as his feet slid across the floor, until at last his momentum ran out, and he came to an anti-climactic halt parallel with the end of the table. Surprised that he'd miraculously managed to not fall over, the Doctor blinked his eyes open. Staring at him with open mouths, on the other side of the table were Vastra Jenny and Strax. They had been sat eating breakfast in a conspiratorial huddle before their whispers had been suddenly interrupted by the Doctor's dramatic entrance. Strax had been about to take a bite of some sausage, so it was now hovering on a fork next to his mouth, frozen in place like the rest of them. 

They all remained staring as each other wordlessly for what felt like an incredibly long time. In the end it was Jenny who moved first. She got out of her seat, and as she did so Vastra, Strax and the Doctor still didn't move, but watched her silently. She walked around the table until she was stood directly in front of the Doctor. She looked him up and down with a concerned frown holding her hands to her hips, judging each part of him in turn, from his feet right the way up to his head. When her gaze reached his eyes she stared into them for some time, before placing a hand on his cheek. Her expression relaxed then she said so quietly that it was almost a whisper- “....Doctor?”.

He gently took her hand away from his face, but then held it tightly in his both his hands, pulled towards his chest and grinned at her broadly. “Hello Jenny.”

She laughed, and as she did he felt the relief of knowing at least one person in the room had immediately accepted his new face, so he laughed too. Vastra and Strax relaxed back into their chairs with an audible sigh of relief as Jenny pulled the Doctor into a tight hug- his arms flailed about as if he didn't know where to put them until she had eventually let go.

“Ugh. Timelords.” Strax groaned. “So much potential within the regenerative process, and yet from my experience you always go for this..” He motioned up and down the Doctor with his hand “...basic humanoid form.” Now he leant forward in his chair. “What about an extra arm? Hmm? Or how about some poisonous fangs? Or an exoskeleton? Or-”

“Yes.” Vastra interjected, desperate to stop Strax before he began one of his notorious unending trails of insane thoughts. “We're glad to see you alive and well. Aren't we Strax?”

He grunted sulkily.

“Not just alive and well ma'am.” Added Jenny. “You're looking very well indeed Sir, if you don't mind me saying. A very pleasing appearance. A dignified and mature profile. And the eyes-”

This time it was Vastra who grunted, frowning at Jenny causing her to blush and then quickly return to her seat.

“But yes, how is the patient feeling? Any residual discomfort?” inquired Strax. 

“Yes, is everything okay Doctor? We heard you in some distress in your room just now” Vastra added, cocking an eyebrow quizzically.

“Indeed, I was just gathering together my medi-kit. It sounded like you were having a fit of some sort up there.” Strax added.

The trio continued to watch the Doctor, fascinated, as they waited for their answer. Unfortunately, it looked like he wasn't in any rush to provide one. He had started wandering around the room as if sleep walking with his eyes open. He was fiddling with anything he could get his hands on. He had removed the lid off a small brown earthenware teapot, and was peering into it, then suddenly started slowly turning and eyeing up the rest of the room as he absent-mindedly sniffed the inside of the teapot, wrinkling his nose.

“Doctor-” Jenny started, before the Doctor interrupted:

“No, no I'm fine...” He began, still not looking at the trio. He was still wandering around touching things. Occasionally to pick them up and look at them, but also to slightly adjust their positions or alignment. “...I had trouble getting my Pyjamas on.”

At this Vastra and Jenny looked at each other worriedly, but Strax nodded at him in understanding.

Suddenly, he stopped what he was doing (opening and closing the small doors on the huge iron oven whilst twisting a wooden spoon handle into his ear) and spun around on his ankle until he was facing the trio, staring at Vastra intensely. 

“Where's Clara?” He asked.

Vastra stuttered under that penetrating gaze “Umm she's ah...”

Strax rolled his eyes and butted in “The small boy has gone out to retrieve some clothing items from your TARDIS.”

“What?!” The Doctor yelled, making Jenny jump, and he bore down upon Strax, who, despite his untarnished record of fearlessness even to the point of stupidity, was now shrinking into his seat under the long shadow being cast over him by the Doctor's towering form. 

“She said you both needed a change of clothes and that you'd require your sonic screwdriver also..” Strax squeaked. 

“How long as she been gone?!” The Doctor shouted louder, and was so close to Strax that his nose was almost touching him, and Strax had slip down into his chair so far that he was almost falling off it. 

His squeaked even higher this time “About an hour”.

The Doctor didn't relinquish his gaze for what seemed forever to Strax, before standing upright again, and turning on his heel and walking away.“She could be in danger! Those men could still be out there!” he said furiously, almost as if to himself. Strax breathed out as if he'd been holding it in for some time. 

“What men Doctor? What are you talking about?” Vastra asked, worried that the Doctor was having some sort of psychotic episode. 

The Doctor walked briskly back towards the door where he'd entered minutes before, shouting over his shoulder “When we landed we were attacked. I sent them on their way but they could have come back with more! Looking for round two” and with that he turned into the hallway out of sight of the trio.

“I'm certain she's fine.” Lied Vastra to the other two, glancing sideways at the other two. 

“Do you think he'll be okay though?” Jenny asked nodding to the door, reaching out and holding Vastra's hand. Vastra looked at her, then turned and began following the Doctor. Jenny skipped to keep up with her hurried pace.

Vastra didn't look at her, but wanted to comfort her wife, so she added “I'm certain they'll both be fine. And if something, Gods forbid, has happened to Clara, well the Doctor is here. None of us can come to harm if he is with us.”

Jenny muttered something under her breath. Vastra couldn't quite hear over the sound of her boots clicking on the tiles, but she caught '...had trouble putting on his pyjamas.”

 

When they emerged from Paternoster Row into the quiet cobbled London backstreet, they saw the Doctor, still looking ridiculous in his Pyjamas, huddled over in the road. Jenny ran over, and put a hand on his back.

“Doctor? What is it?” She asked. He turned towards her, and she gasped as saw in his hands there was one of Clara's leather boots, now looking so small and vulnerable held in his long fingers. He stood up, and walked over to the other two. Jenny followed, and together they formed a tight circle as the Doctor began talking quickly and quietly in his husky new voice.

“Right, I have to go after Clara.” He started. Vastra open her mouth about to protest, but was silence by a glance of reproach from the Doctor. He continued “I remember what those men looked like, so that's a start at least, and her boot is still warm so they can't have gotten too far. So I'm goi- aaaargh.” He cried out, and backed away from the others, clutching at his chest. He started coughing violently, bent over double, his whole body was shaking. Then he put his hands up to cover his mouth, and they gave off a gentle golden glow. As quickly as the fit began it ended, but he remained bent over and shivering, with his head bowed low. When Jenny approached him he straightened up, and she saw that his hands were soaked in blood, and it was all around his mouth too. He looked at her, and then motioned to walk away from them down the street. She ran up to him and held him, burying her face into his chest.

“Oh Lord have mercy upon me. You can't go. Not like this. Please don't go” She looked up at him pleadingly, but saw that the resolution to go was firmly set in his heart, so she reluctantly released him, and took some steps backwards. Vastra moved forwards to take her hand once again. Jenny sniffed, then looked at the Doctor firmly in the eye: “Forgive me sir. 'Aint my place to be telling you what to do.”

He wiped his face on his sleeve, and his hands on his gown, and then walked up to Jenny, taking her hand and putting it to his mouth, where he kissed it gently. “Thank you for your concern Ms. Flint, but I have to go, even if it kills me.” She nodded. He turned to Vastra. “I will, however, be needing a horse.”


	6. Light

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is an action chapter. Expect guns, blood and violence. Sorry.

The Doctor urged the horse on, faster and faster. His mind was like a hive- thousands of thoughts, calculations, and memories zipping around his head at blinding speeds, individually moving in random manic zig zags, but as a whole entirely focused on a single goal: Clara. He clutched the reins in one hand, and put the other to his head- the pressure on the inside of his skull was building to almost unbearable intensity. Suddenly, he felt pain surge up inside of him, and project itself outwards, as fast as being shot through the head with a bullet. The horse lost it’s footing for a moment, hooves scrambling on slippery cobbles, neighed, and then ran on, twice the speed it was doing before.

The Doctor blinked to get rid of the blurriness in his eyes, the pain subsiding for now. “Sorry girl.” He patted the horse’s neck. “Telepathic headache. Must’ve projected it out to you. Not fully in control of myself at the minute I’m afraid.”

He ran over calculations and projections in his mind, building a five dimensional map of clues and probabilities, zeroing down on exactly where they would have taken her. The horse whinnied as it turned a corner, dodging a cart at the last second. The Doctor heard someone yelling angrily behind them, but didn’t look back. 

 

Clara's hands were bound behind the back of the chair she was sat in with scratchy, thick, rope, and her head rang with an echo of pain from the second blow she had been dealt in the past three hours. She groaned, partly from the ache, and also from frustration as she twisted her wrists back and forth to loosen her bonds, but to no effect. 

“See how this works? You try to run away, we tie your arms up and we rope you to a chair.”  
The owner of the voice walked out from behind her. Reaper. That’s what he’d called himself earlier, when Clara had first woken up on the floor of the gigantic warehouse she was in now. He was gigantic, over six feet tall, with a wide, bulky frame like you see in old photographs of circus strongmen. He had thick, black, coarse hair that was slicked back over his skull, was wearing the same style of Victorian working class clothes as the men she had encountered with the Doctor, and held a cigar between his thick fingers with a delicacy that suggested a delusion of grandeur. He’d introduced himself with pride: a gentleman, a businessman, a philanthropist. An honest man just trying to earn a decent living in an indecent city. She could see clearly what he was: a thug and a gangster. With a little encouragement earlier she’d got him to wax lyrical about himself and his goons, so when his guard was dropped for a second she’d made a run for it. Almost made it to the wide, tauntingly open shutters at the far end of the building before one of his men jumped out from behind a crate and knocked her out with a single blow. 

From where she was sat now, Clara could see there were ten, maybe fifteen large men scattered around the warehouse. It was obvious that what Reaper had set up here was a well planned ambush, with some men positioning themselves high up on a metal walkway suspended near the roof, and the others crouched behind crates and sandbags on the ground in a wide circle around her. Every one of them was brandishing a pistol or a revolver, and some were only visible because of the barrel of a rifle poking out from behind their hiding places.

Reaper followed Clara's line of sight as her eyes darted around the building, and then looked back at her, smiling.

“Going a bit pale I see. You've noticed my men have taken some precautions for when your friend turns up.”

“It won’t do you any good. Monkeys with guns are still just monkeys.” Clara sneered at him, but groaned internally at her own taunts. She’d be able to come up with much better material if she wasn’t concentrating so hard on wriggling her hand out of the rope.

Reaper’s smile faltered slightly. “Yes, from what I hear we can't be too careful. Your friend's got some fight in him, I'll give him that. Had to send my boys to the infirmary, they got themselves pretty roughed up.”

“They didn’t get themselves roughed up. The Doctor kicked their arses.” Clara bore into him with her glare.

The fleshy mountain of a man looked thoughtfully at her and took a long draw on his cigar, illuminating the end of it and the small glow it gave off exaggerating his bulldog-like features. His dark eyes were pinpricked with flashes of orange light, giving him a demonic, supernatural appearance. He moved forward into the bright circle of light falling from a hugh window that was illuminating Clara to put his hands on the arms of the chair that she was bound to, and lent his weight forward until his face was inches away from hers. He exhaled slowly, and Clara spluttered and coughed from the acidic smoke.

“The Doctor? So that’s what they call him. He's a hell of a brawler, it's a shame we met in these circumstances or else he and I could've made some good money together in one of my little underground boxing clubs.” He scrutinised every square inch of Clara's face like she was something delicious he couldn’t wait to devour. Then, appearing satisfied, he stood upright again. “But what I hate more than anything is being made a fool of. I'm not having someone walking my streets with the audacity to think he can stop my boys conducting their business. I won't have it. It's not the way we do things.” Now he turned to his men, and spoke louder so they could all hear. “Anyway, who knows. Maybe he'll have enough life left in him once we've finished here so that we can put him in the ring anyway. Place some bets, have ourselves a bit of fun. I've got some very large, very hungry, very bored rottweilers that need a new chew toy.” The men laughed and cheered, and Clara felt sick with panic.

Suddenly, a young man ran in, and whilst trying to catch his breath he silently nodded at Reaper. He didn't react, but instead continued puffing on his cigar, then silently nodded in reply, turned, and motioned casually with his hand at the rest of the men. They immediately scurried to their positions, leaving Clara alone with Reaper stood next to her, both still illuminated by dusty sunlight.

There was silence apart from the distant lapping of waves on the dock outside, and then gradually the sound of hooves galloping grew louder and louder, stopping abrutly with a loud neighing. Then once again, a painful silence. She felt the tension from the men around her increase significantly as each second passed, but Reaper remained calm, puffing slowly on his cigar, one hand resting on the back of the chair, the other in his trouser pocket. Clara couldn't take her eyes away from the large entrance to the warehouse, but she was certain she could feel Reaper smiling behind her, enjoying his 'fun'. She tried to think of a signal she could give the Doctor, or maybe a diversion she could create to help. She couldn’t stand being such a ‘damsel in distress’, but the outcome of every scenario she played out in her head just ended with her, or the Doctor, or both of them being shot and killed.

Her thoughts were suddenly interrupted. She didn't know what she had been expected, but it certainly wasn't what happened next. They heard footsteps, as casual as someone strolling through town enjoying a sunny afternoon, and then a shape appeared at the entrance, a shadow, which took it's time making it's way towards the illuminated figures. It paused for a moment, then stepped into the light. It was him, the Doctor, wearing....pyjamas? Clara recognised them as the one's she'd left for the Doctor by his bedside. Unfortunately only exaggerated his gaunt frame, hanging off him like he was a curtain pole. He looked a mess, his grey hair was sticking up in places, despite appearing calm his eyes were wide and manic, and down his front and on his sleeves he had large dark crusty red stains that she really hoped weren't blood but was pretty certain they were. Clara's heart sank- this grand entrance did not scream ‘I have a brilliant plan’ at her. This was verified when the Doctor squinted at Reaper, and then at Clara. He smiled at her and gave her a little wave. “Hello!” He said cheerfully to the two of them, as if he’d bumped into them in the street, and then he stood with his hands behind his back, looking with faint curiosity around the building. Clara rolled her eyes. So much for the daring rescue, this was definitely one of his 'making it up as I go along' strategies.

The tense silence was interrupted when Reaper did what could only be described as a giggle. Then it grew deeper and louder, until he was roaring with laughter. Soon all of his henchmen were laughing too, coughing out grotesque, mocking guffaws. The Doctor looked around at them with a look of mild interest, but the noise wasn't easing the tension for Clara. She felt a belt of dread tighten around her chest, and she stared pleadingly at the Doctor, hoping for a knowing wink or a reassuring glance, but he avoided eye contact with her so perfectly it was as if on purpose. Instead he stared at Reaper, who sauntered up to him, and slapped him on the back with a giant palm.

“Hehehe..” His laugh trailed off. “Look at you!” He stared up and down the Doctor in fascination. “You look as if you're as delicate as bone china my friend!”

The Doctor chuckled. “I’m afraid I’ll have to take your word on that one. I can’t quite remember what I look like right at this moment. Do I have amazing sticky up hair? Sort of brown with sideburns. I always liked that body”

Reaper roared with laughter again. “Amazing!” He turned to Clara. “A weak old man with an addled brain! Your knight in shining armour!” The rest of his men joined in with him, snorting and whooping with laughter, and Clara felt a shadow of despair fall over her. She couldn’t bear to hear the Doctor being ridiculed in such a cruel way, made worse by the fact that he seemed completely unaware of them doing it.

Reaper finally stopped laughing and let out a sigh, wiping away a tear. “Well...” He drew long on his cigar, then dropped it to the floor, crunching it flat under his heavy leather boot. “We had quite a party planned for you, but it looks like my boys came out tonight for nothing. No point wasting all these bullets on you. Seems to me that you must've taken my men by surprise earlier is all. Or more likely, this one-” He nodded towards Clara “-beat them up, and they were too embarrassed to admit it.”

“She does seem the type doesn’t she.” The Doctor said. “Feisty” he added.

Reaper was visibly losing interest now, and turned away from the Doctor, who stepped towards him as if to follow, adding “I would like her back now though. As soon as possible. I’ve got a very disgruntled horse outside and he’s kept his metre running. If I don’t keep an eye on the clock I’ll owe him fifty apples at this rate.”

Reaper sighed with boredom, and looked at Clara with cold dead eyes as he drew his gun from the back of his trousers and pointed it at the Doctor. With only a couple of feet separating them, he couldn’t miss. Before Clara realised what was happening, he fired, and shot the Doctor clean through the head.

He wasn't blown backwards by the force of the impact, but instead his body twisted sharply as he fell, and he landed face down on the brick floor with a crunch. Clara cried out, almost toppling her chair to one side in her panic.

“Whoa whoa whoa now, shhhh.” Reaper cooed, resting his hand casually on the chair arm, but it's weight was enough to make it impossible for Clara to wiggle around. She continued crying out until her voice was hoarse, and then they became choking, desperate sobs as she struggled against her bonds. “Shhhh, don't worry, I'm sure he'll be fine.” he continued. Then, toying with the gun in his hand, looking with pleasure between Clara and the Doctor, he pointed it at the Doctor's still body, a pool of blood already spreading out, and fired the remaining rounds at him, each one hitting it's mark, impacting and causing the lifeless form to twitch. He squeezed the trigger until it clicked hollowly, and the gun was empty. “Alright...now he probably isn't”. Clara screamed, and the room erupted into laugher.

Reaper wandered out into the open floor, looking around at his men, laughing with them, revelling in his fun. Clara on the other hand sank into despair, her head hung down and she stared into her lap. She'd let the Doctor down. In all his lives and hers she'd been there to save him, and now it was her turn and she'd failed when he was at his most vulnerable and needed her the most. She couldn’t bear to look across at him- a silent lifeless statue. A cruel monument to her failure.

Clara sunk into the chair, and it didn’t feel like a long time, or even only a moment. It felt as if time had drained out of the world completely, and it was now a wide unending desolate sea, and she was floating in it adrift, directionless and without hope. 

Then, in the corner of her eye she noticed something stirring, distracting her from her despair. She turned her head slightly to the side, and her eyes widened. The Doctor's hand was moving. He was still alive? It was impossible, but still, it was opening and closing deliberately, and then suddenly his whole arm shifted underneath his body, and he slowly began to lift himself up. She stared in disbelief as he calmly unfurled like an opening flower, and returned to his feet. He turned to face the men, his eyes scrunched shut and head bowed as if concentrating on something intensely. Suddenly his fists at his sides snapped open, and he splayed his fingers wide, golden light curling around them. There were holes in his gown still wet with fresh blood where the bullets had entered his body, but Clara could see the wounds themselves glowing with the same golden light; brightly erupting and then fading entirely, leaving no mark on his pale skin

Clara sat open-mouthed, but then noticed almost absent-mindedly that now the Doctor had also drawn the attention of Reaper and his men. Their hoots and laughs died away, as each saw what was happening and stared in stunned silence at the Doctor, still standing completely still, eyes remaining tightly closed.

She heard a clatter as some of the men dropped their weapons and ran wordlessly out of the warehouse. Reaper stood with his mouth wide open, his arm hung at his side still brandishing the now useless gun.

Everyone, including Clara and Reaper, stared at the glowing figure entranced, when without warning a shot was fired. No telling from which direction it came from, but it glanced off the wall behind the Doctor and ricocheted off into the darkness.

The Doctor’s eyes immediately snapped open. Clara saw they were as wide now under those eyebrows as when he’d first regenerated, except this time they blazed with clear bright golden light. His head turned slowly, and he stared straight at Clara. She felt like she was suffocating under his gaze, her breath caught in her throat, and her body welled up with a sensation that could only be described as drowning in song, like ancient beautiful music vibrating through her bones. The sound of the universe. All at once she felt immortal and on the brink of death, falling through endless space and yet never more present in the moment, and all the while the song of a million radiant voices poured into her. 

Then he turned away from her, and the music stopped. She gasped, like breaching the surface desperate for air.

Clara had no idea what had just happened, or how long she and the Doctor had been looking at each other, but it was as if everyone suddenly woke up from a daze all at once, and Reaper blinked, then yelled “Fire you idiots! Kill him! Kill him!”

Every single one of the men began unloading their weapons at the Doctor in a cacophony of noise and smoke.

Instead of turning away in horror, Clara found herself staring in amazement at what followed.

The Doctor moved so fast that her eyes could barely keep up, it was far beyond anything a human body could do. He turned on his heel to the henchman nearest to him, a large man with balding head and ruddy complexion, frantically reloading his rifle. The Doctor’s movements were so quick and smooth his sprint looked as if he was gliding across the floor. He twisted the man's hand, who yelped and dropped his weapon. Then the Doctor gently touched the side of the man’s head with his palm, and the man's eyes rolled back into his head, and dropped unconscious to the floor.

He proceeded to move around the room from goon to goon, disarming them and then knocking them out with a touch. Clara couldn't tell if he was managing to dodge the shower of bullets coming at him, deflecting them, absorbing them or what, but he wasn't being affected by a single one. In a moment all the men lay on the floor gurgling like sleeping babies, apart from the five still left high up in the walkways. They had now had time to observe what happened to their friends on the ground, and they were dropping their weapons to the floor and descending down the ladders to meet the Doctor face to face. They may have given up their guns, but they still had fight left in them. Whilst the others hung back, one of them who was particularly large and had a face criss-crossed with scars strutted up to face the Doctor and rubbed his hands together in glee at anticipation of a real fight. The Doctor just stared at him down the end of his nose with his eyes still ablaze but his face remained emotionless. Without warning the man threw a punch, and the Doctor stepped to the side to avoid it, as if he’d known it was coming, causing the thug to stumble clumsily forwards. He was evidently quick to temper, as he growled in frustration, then turned, releasing a volley of left cuts and right cuts, each one powerful enough to send a normal person flying. The Doctor ducked and twisted, dodging every single one effortlessly. 

“Wooo!” Clara yelled out, stamping her feet, as if at a football match. The Doctor turned to her and the glow dissapeared from his eyes. As if waking from a dream he blinked, then smiled at her. The thug however, seeing him distracted, and a window of opportunity presented, ran at his back with his arms out, screaming in anger as if his lungs were about to come out. Clara gasped, but then just as the thug’s fingers were about to brush him, the Doctor gave a theatrical bow to Clara, tripping up the man, who somersaulted forwards and went flying across the room. 

Clara cheered again. The four remaining thugs looked at each other, and then ran, out the entrance and out of sight. 

The only one left was Reaper, who was raving. “Come back here you cowardly bastards! Come back!” Realising that he truly was left on his own, he looked at the Doctor and made a noise that sounded like a growl summoned from the deepest, darkest part of his being. Without another word, trembling with fury, he reached behind himself again and drew a second pistol, aiming it at Clara this time.

“I’ll shoot her, I will! I’ll teach you to mess with-“  
He didn’t finish his sentence, the Doctor walked swiftly up to him, and held his hands to either side of Reaper’s head. Clara thought he was going to send him to sleep like the others, but instead- BAM. He head-butted him hard, and Reaper dropped to the ground unconscious. 

 

The Doctor turned his head to look around the building, searching for any remaining henchmen, with that reassuringly normal piercing icy stare. Well- Clara thought- relatively normal. 

Now he was looking down, dusting himself off and inspecting his gown, looking mildly annoyed. “My pyjamas. They shot holes in my pyjamas!”, he muttered, still not looking up at Clara.

“Doctor!” She exclaimed with joy, the tears of a moment ago still glistening on her face.

“Clara! Do you see what they did!?” He strutted up to her, and poked his finger through one of the holes that the bullets had made on the chest of his pyjamas. “Look! Holes! Everywhere!”

She was so relieved that she laughed. Maybe she'd gone mad. No one can survive being shot that many times at point blank range, surely? Well if anyone could he could. 

The Doctor walked up to Reaper’s unconscious form on the floor, a large angry bruise was already appearing on the thug’s forehead, and a small trickle of blood confirmed a broken nose. The Doctor gave him a small, hard kick and continued tugging at the holes in his pyjamas to draw as if to draw the stunned thug's attention to them.

“I don't even like the bloody things, but you didn't have to go shooting holes into them!”

Clara laughed, “Doctor, please stop talking about your pyjamas. Untie me and let’s go home.”

He turned and looked at her with a smile so gentle and loving that she felt she could cry. He walked up to her, knelt down and hugged her tightly, nestling his head between hers and her shoulder. 

“When you say home you mean the TARDIS, right?”

“Of course I do, silly boy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I started this with the intention of writing an ending for the story...then it got longer and longer. I'll do one more chapter after this to wrap it up.


	7. Buttons

The Doctor had already gone into the Tardis, eager to be on his way, as Clara said her goodbyes to Vastra, Jenny and Strax. That was one of the downsides to the life she was leading- she never knew which goodbye would be her last, so she tried to make each one count. They had been so caring to her that she already considered them friends, and knew she would miss them. If only she had a lizard woman, her wife and a talking potato available to hang out with whenever she had a minor life crisis.

After giving each of them one final tight hug, and Strax a kiss on the forehead (she was certain she saw him blush) she followed the Doctor into the Tardis. He was already jabbing away at the controls, his ridiculous nightie flapping around his ankles. Clara smiled; he was already so thoroughly, so recognisably- 'The Doctor'. She turned to close the door behind her, and as it clicked shut she felt bony arms come from behind and wrap around her middle firmly.

She grinned “Oh, I see someone's feeling better.”

She felt kisses being planted along the side of her neck, up towards her hairline, and then a mouth nibbling at her earlobe, as one of the hands moved to cup her breast. She moaned, and between her legs tingled, jealous of the attention her other parts were getting. Then as if to oblige her unspoken request, the other hand squeezed her thigh , and then moved slowly upwards, the ends of the fingers gently tasting her skin, leaving a trail of tingling goose pimples. Her heart skipped as the fingers moved under her skirt, lifting it until-

A flash of light.

Suddenly Clara was stood facing the door of the Tardis again, but alone. She shook her head to clear it, feeling groggy as if she'd just woken up. Was what just happened in her imagination? If it was, she pondered, it was the most ridiculously vivid day-dream ever...

She turned to face the console, and could see the Doctor as he had been before- working the controls, head bowed in concentration, not even noticing he was being watched.

“Doctor-” she said, but paused. What could she ask without sounding insane? “Umm...” She stood thinking. The Doctor had stopped what he was doing and had turned his head to her, waiting patiently for her to finish her sentence. He raised his eyebrows in expectation.

“...yes?” He said eventually.

She shifted her weight from foot to foot as she tried to think of how to word her question, the gravity of the Doctor’s unforgiving stare pressing down on her. In the end she had to just settle on the hope that in two millennia of time travel this would hardly be the weirdest thing he’s ever heard. “Umm, did you just feel something? Like time skipping backwards, or...like a weird daydream?”

The Doctor's face immediately fell. He looked completely appalled.

Clara immediately regretted saying anything. Obviously there was some big timey wimey disaster about to happen, and...it was giving her sexy daydreams? Okay, maybe not that. But she'd evidently said something wrong.

But then instead of flying into action the Doctor remained where he was, staring at her. His mouth hung open for a while, until his brain could coax a stuttered sentence out. “Oh wow, that's embarrassing.” He said, taking his hands of the console and averting his eyes to the ground.

“What is? What's wrong?”

"Ummm...nothing..." he said, still averting his eyes from Clara. 

"Doctor...?" she said, her tone quickly turning from 'worried' to 'impatient'. 

“Ah, well, it's just.... I'm guessing you saw…ummm..” The Doctor began to rub the back of his head with his hand. “You had a type of …..vision?”

Clara nodded slowly now as the realisation dawned on her that there was no immediate threat, and that in fact what she had seen was something to do with the flustered alien infront of her.

“You saw us doing something. Together. In here.” He said, making every word sound like hard work.

Clara folded her arms now, and cocked an eyebrow at him. “Yes?”

The Doctor rolled his eyes, and sighed. “Okay, awkward admission coming right up.”

“I'm all ears.” She said in the tone she saved for naughty children. She wasn't going to make it easier for him, it was too much fun to see how uncomfortable he was.

He cleared his throat, and was still not making eye contact. “Okay, so an unfortunate side effect of regeneration can be that sometimes you have these-” He lifted his hands up and wiggled his fingers “-telepathic headaches.”

“Go on...” She said, failing to hide her smirk.

“So I may have....projected my thoughts outwards. By accident. Accidentally. Without meaning to I mean.”

“Ha!” She tried to stifle her giggle when she saw how red the Doctor had gone. His eyebrows fell and he grimaced, and turned to stare intently at the central rotor of the console, doing a terrible job of pretending to ignore his highly amused companion.

“So whilst you were piloting the...”

“Yes.” He said in a emotionless tone through gritted teeth, eyes still fixed on the rotor.

“You were daydreaming about....”

His voice dropped deeper “Yes.”

There was more giggling, and then suddenly she stopped, and as a reflex he turned to make sure she was okay. “Clara?” What's wrong?”

She was staring at him, wearing a thoughtful expression. “Do you do that often?” Her lips curled up into a devilish smile, and she began to walk towards him slowly, swinging her hips in a way that made sure he knew it was on purpose. “Do you fantasise about you and me? In here?” As she got closer he took a step back, trepidation on his face. Suddenly there was no retreat as the console pushed into the small of his back as she pressed her body up against him, and she looked up at him from under dark lashes. “On the floor? Up against the console?” She walked her fingers up his chest as she spoke.

“Clara...”

“Well..?”

“Since last night I do admit you may have somewhat...preoccupied my thoughts”

She smiled. “Show me.”

“Now, Clara, I..”

“Worried I might be shocked?”

Now it was his turn to cock an eyebrow at her sceptically, and she laughed.

“Come oooon, show me something.”

He sighed, seeing that there was no way around this. So, after rubbing his hands together, he placed his fingers at her temples.

“Okay promise not to headbutt me like you did Reaper.” She grinned up at him, and as she closed her eyes she saw him do the same.

Another flash of light. She was still in the console room, but back to where she was before, facing the doors. She turned, and saw a figure stood at the console. The same height and build as the Doctor, but facing away from her, and this man had...brown hair?

She stepped forward, and the man turned around.

“Clara..”Said a deep voice peppered with Scottish tones. It was the Doctor. The same Doctor she'd been looking at seconds ago, the same icy blue eyes, but his face...

His face looked 30 years younger, as if he was in his mid twenties, skin still translucently pale but fresh faced, with barely a wrinkle in sight. His hair was a bit longer, chestnut brown and incredibly thick, with a hint of waviness to it. She walked up to him hesitantly, and he stood quietly as she inspected him all over. He was wearing a well fitted dark blue coat with a crisp white shirt underneath, buttoned up to the top but without a tie or bowtie, tight trousers and large, black shiny boots.

“Doctor?” She finally said, although her tone hinted that she still wasn't entirely certain. She squinted at him as if trying to get him into focus and he gazed back at her from heavily lidded eyes.

“Hello Clara”, he said quietly through an a-symmetrical smile, leaning forward slowly, putting his hand behind her to run his long fingers through her hair. His face was so close to hers that their noses were practically brushing, and she felt the warm touch of his breath on her cheek. Her eyes flickered down to his lips, and without thinking she found herself kissing them. A small simple peck at first, but then they began to kiss passionately. She ran her hands over his thin frame as he held the small of her back with one hand, pulling her tightly to him.

Soon they were sighing and gasping with the need for each other, a wordless conversation between lovers about their favourite places to be touched. Clara began unbuttoning the Doctor’s pristine white shirt, and The Doctor reached up with both hands to where her’s was buttoned too.

“May I?” He whispered into Clara's ear.

“Please.” She panted, and he gently and carefully unfastened the top three buttons without having to look. Once those were out of the way, he took each side of her shirt and cardigan in his hands and firmly yanked them apart. Fabric ripped, and buttons flew off in multiple directions exposing Clara's black bra. She gasped, then plunged back into their kiss whilst wriggling her bra plus the remainder of her shirt and cardigan off. Then the Doctor hooked his arms under her legs, holding them at his sides to pick her up, then gently sat her on the console. He worked his way down her body planting a line of kisses as he went, tracing the round swell of her breasts with his fingers whilst occasionally flicking her hard nipples. She threw her head back and closed her eyes as he moved further and further down, but then suddenly Clara paused, and blinked as if coming to a sudden realisation, and she touched his head with her hand, pushing her fingers through his thick hair.

“Wait..” she said gently, and he immediately stopped. He kept her in his arms but loosened his hold on her and rested her against the console.

“Is everything okay?” He said, unable to mask the concern in his voice.

“No. I mean, yes, this is great, but, it's not right.” She looked at him and stroked her hand on his soft cheek. He smiled nervously. They were still the Doctor's eyes, but it was strange seeing them staring out of a face that could easily be just any random guy she'd met in a bar, or walked past in the street.

Now she put both hands on that face, and drew it up close to hers. She looked sombrely at him, then asked- “Why were you fantasising this? Just us in the Tardis?" She looked around the room, keeping her hands on him, keeping him close. "Not the most exotic location you could've thought up." Now she pulled him closer and rested her forehead on his. "Why have everything the same..except.." She rubbed her thumb over his smooth skin. "Except this." She gave a long sad sigh. "Tell me this isn't because you feel insecure about how you look.”

He didn't reply, but averted his eyes away in embarrassment.

She sighed again, this time with exasperation but also affection, then twisted his face back round to hers.

“This better be some sort of post-regeneration issue. Like when you get your hair cut, and at first you hate it, then once you get used to the change you prefer it?”  
He looked at her sheepishly, and still said nothing, fidgeting and turning away from her.

Clara was willing to wager that that was entirely the problem. She would just have to help him work through this final side effect of his weird alien biology the only way she could. She grabbed his lapels and yanked him back to her, their noses touching.

She growled under her breath.“Enough with the baby face. Back to reality. Now.”

He looked terrified, then scrunched his face up. There was a flash of bright light, and Clara was in front of the grey haired Doctor once more, with his hands on either side of her temples, still appearing quite terrified of the short woman he was looking down at.

She took a step back, and began taking off her clothes, fingers slipping over the buttons of her shirt as she rushed to undo them.

“What are you..?” The Doctor began, staring at her wide eyed and open mouthed. Clara was pretty sure he was unaware of the fact that his attention whilst talking to her was focused everywhere on her except her face.

“Oh no no no,” She said smiling cheekily, waving one chastising finger at the air at him whilst using the other to unzip her skirt. “You don't get me all worked up and then don't finish the job. Come on Time Lord, show me what you've got.”

His face fell, and Clara could practically see the cogs ticking behind his eyes, then suddenly without warning a grin appeared.

He took two strides up to her and grabbed her waist and swung her round. She was wearing just her knickers. She giggled in a way that she would never do if she hadn't been taken by surprise, then stopped abruptly when he put her back on the floor, leant over her and kissed her passionately.

They resumed where they had been before the interruption, and afterwards the Doctor would note that it hadn't been any different, and that he'd been crazy to think his face would've affected anything. In fact, when he thought about it (which he did, often), Clara grabbed his short silver hair possessively and massaged her fingers through it a lot more than she had when it had been a mop of brown curls. 

She pulled on the string at the front of his night gown, and the neck line stretched out until it slid off his narrow frame and fell to the floor, leaving him standing naked in front of her. She took a few steps back, and her eyes ran over his form hungrily, the sight of his arousal doubling her own. 

“That's more like it.” She said, and he laughed. Then without a word of warning she ran up to him and jumped, but he caught her effortlessly and kissed her hard, holding her legs to his side. Then he knelt down, and rested her carefully on the floor of the Tardis, which was strangely warm and comfortable, but then strangeness was something she'd come to expect from the bizarre alien ship and it’s owner. 

A shadow fell over the usual girlish starry glitter that inhabited Clara’s eyes, startling the Doctor momentarily as it was replaced by a seductive darkness. She reached between them to grasp him possessively, guiding him to her entrance, and then his eyes darkened too. It was as if the shadow enveloped them both, stripping away all nervousness and pretence, no more smiles and giggles and playful bickering masking their feelings, they were fully revealed and vulnerable to each other. 

He leant forward, pushing deeply into her, causing her to gasp, then he gently eased his hand behind her back to support her, and they began to move together perfectly in synch. At first it was all him, moving in exactly the way that he knew would stimulate her the most, causing her to completely lose control over herself and groan and sigh with each push and pull. It took her some time to get used to the overwhelming sensation, and then when she regained her senses she was determined to not let him get the better of her. She began to rock her hips, matching his movements, causing him to go deeper, and could feel her core tightening around him. Now it was his turn to gasp, and she felt her senses burning again, begging her to move faster and harder. He must have felt it too, as now they both sped up, so overwhelmed that sounds got caught in their throats. They would wonder afterwards if they’d been loud, but wouldn’t be able to remember because in the moment sound did not exist. Neither did time. Even their memories of what they were looking at were flashes and blurs, as all their perceptions were focused on the searing pleasure between them. 

Clara couldn’t hold out any longer. She let it overwhelm her like a wave, her insides twisting and tightening, her toes splaying out. Immediately afterwards the Doctor went over the edge too, his whole body going rigid, then he relaxed and pulled out, and rolled over onto the floor next to her. 

They both lay there for a few minutes gasping for breath. Eventually Clara’s gulps of air turned into laughs. The Doctor turned to her and began laughing too. Then they stayed on the floor giggling like naughty children for quite some time. Then the Doctor put his arms out towards Clara, motioning for her to come to him. So she shuffled over and put her head on his chest, and he wrapped his arms around her. 

“You know if you’re trying to keep me warm this is about as effective as wrapping me up in a pair of chopsticks.” She teased. 

He gave her a look of mock-hurt, then grinned and closed his eyes

“Yeah I’m a wee bit chilly myself. I’ll have to get some new clothes I think. Something warm. A woolly jumper maybe.”

“How about the clothes you were wearing in your...psychic link…brain….thing.”

“Oh you liked those did you?”

Clara blushed “I thought they were nice, yeah.”

“Hmmm, not a bad idea.” He opened his eyes and leant forward, kissing Clara on the top of her head.

**Author's Note:**

> Now you're at the end, I can let you know this is my first ever fic, hope you enjoyed it. Comments would be appreciated.
> 
> Also there used to be a wierd change from past to present tense in an early chapter that has now been fixed.


End file.
